In the Garrison Commander Manor in Canglang City, inside the small room of the Military Intelligence Department that was perpetually heavy with the scents of ink, sweat, and a faint metallic reek of blood, the air hung as still as ice.
Scout Old Dao, who had just dragged himself back from the depths of the grassland, still had half his face smeared with dried black mud. A fresh scratch ran from his cheekbone to his chin, leaking tiny beads of blood.
His throat felt as though it had been stuffed with sand, and his voice was terribly raspy. Every inhalation wrenched painfully at his lungs, yet he dared not pause for even a fraction of a moment.
Chapter 166